Last Spectre of Reach
by Ginyou Rinsom
Summary: Remembered by history they thought his body belonged to Reach. To his purpose he rose again not only to defend humanity but a galaxy full of those who cried for freedom. Together, he bleed with them but he still failed. Can he shed his apprehension and work alongside the one human and her team who can stop the terror from beyond the darkness? This is the next chapter of Six's tale.
1. Chapter 1

August 30, 2552 20:00  
Aszod ship-breaking yards, Eposz, Reach

* * *

It was done.

Six sighed as he leapt from the mass driver's cradle landing with against on the catwalk with an audible thud, tightly gripping his rifle the Spartan warrior scanned the area, all was silent not even a blip on his tracker. Lowering his weapon satisfied that he was for now, clear of Covenant signatures. Slowly walking from the weapon he knelt by the motionless form of Noble Team's Assault Specialist, Emile-A239, leaning against the Onager platform railing. Setting his rifle aside the Spartan stared mournfully at his fallen comrade, defiant to the end Emile was a credit to the team.

'_Not much of a team now…' _He muttered to himself bitterly, reaching over the Spartan removed the deceased man's tags from beneath his armor. Slightly tempted to remove the aggressive Spartan's customized helmet, No, pulling his hand back he stowed the Spartan's tag within a case on his thigh, Emile was the only other Spartan within Noble, beside Six himself that refused to remove his helmet, Emile's emblazoned with a skull chipped into the visor. For whatever reason he may have held for that Six would respect, though he never had a chance to speak with the man at length he was still a brother-in-arms, a fellow SPARTAN-III. Emile's tags would rest with the other Noble's who fell in defense of Reach;

Jorge-052 Noble Five, Noble's only SPARTAN-II and their heavy weapons expert. Gruff but empathetic the large man was his partner throughout much of the conflict; bonded in combat they shared a silent camaraderie. The Spartan had sacrificed himself to make sure that UPPERCUT had succeeded, obliterating a Covenant Super-carrier in a brilliant showing of human ingenuity. His last words still resounding within Six's head, _"Tell 'em to make it count."_ The giant had spoken in a soft voice as he hefted Six off the ground, armor and all with a single arm. A testament to the power that his predecessors held. A faint smirk graced the scarred Spartan's features before tossing his comrade through the barrier, watching his descending form for a brief moment before setting off to complete his task. Another bitter sound filtered through the Spartan's speakers, had they made it count? Reach was lost, turning into a barren molten wasteland. To Six, Jorge had accomplished nothing but to die in vain, to delay the fall by a mere sixteen days. Shaking his head he dispelled the slow descent into melancholy, it was enough, sixteen days they had held the aliens off, sixteen days that millions of civilians and non-combat personal had a chance to flee. Sixteen more days that Earth remained safe from alien assault, more time for Humanity to galvanize, ready itself for the oncoming Covenant armada.

Catherine-B320 Noble Two, Noble Team's Intelligence specialist and second in command, curious as her nickname and always cheeky the woman never let her team down. From fixing plasma scarred relay to cracking classified ONI data, felled by an Elite needle rifle Six held her in his arms using her pistol to vainly avenge her. Like the rest of the team, he had no time to truly get to know the team's sole female but her saucy demeanor and ever-present curiosity served to amuse the Spartan even if he didn't vocalize it. Though it peeved him that she had cracked into his classified file, her actions had provided the key to their problem, a way to deposit their makeshift bomb.

Carter-A259 Noble One, Noble Team's fearless and no-nonsense leader, Six had little interaction with the Spartan leader even in comparison to the others. His courageous sacrifice allowed Emile and himself to reach the Autumn and deliver the package. Ramming their Pelican into the Scarab as it threatened to incinerate the two Spartan's with its gigantic plasma cannon, Carter had heroically sacrificed himself to insure their victory, and what Six hoped was Humanity's victory over the Covenant. Before the freefall from the back of the Pelican Carter had slipped Kat and his own tags into Six's hand, squeezing the newbie Noble's hand tightly he demanded that Six promise him that he would not fail. He had kept his promise.

Emile-A239 Noble Four, Noble Team's bold unbreakable assault specialist, Emile was the last Spartan Six had fought alongside. Defiantly defending the cannon against an Elite ambush he held off the Covenant drop ships before Six had taken the helm. Even as an Elite Zealot impaled him upon his sword, the skulled helmed Spartan still fought on, driving his signature kukri into the lizard's neck before succumbing to the horrible wound. Looking to his left Six spotted the kukri, buried hilt deep into the Elite's exposed flesh. Frowning he pried the curved blade from the alien; wiping the purple blood off upon the alien's own skin Six stared mournfully at his comrade's signature weapon. Returning to Emile's body, Six carefully removed the sheath mounted on his right shoulder pauldron sheathing the blade back within its rightful place Six attached it to his own pauldron.

"I'll make sure to cut plenty of Covenant bastards for you Emile. I won't cut myself, like Kat." Chuckling slightly at the joke Six spared the fallen Spartan a second glance before standing; he could not remain here any longer. Covenant forces would certainly coverage on the gun, eager to slay one of the Demons that had decimated their forces.

Satisfied Six abandoned the Onager making his way out of the shipyard, scavenging whatever supplies he could from the fallen Marines. It was strangely silent, except for the distant explosions and occasional sporadic gunfire, the only persistent sound was the far off Covenant cruisers slowly glassing Reach's surface. Even more peculiar was the lack of engagement, it had been at least an hour since he had left the facility and Six had yet to encounter a single Covenant patrol, not even a pack of their diminutive Grunts. If it wasn't such a worrying problem, Six would have breathed a sigh of relief. The Spartan commando would have preferred engagement rather than the stifling emptiness, the lack of action served only to let his mind wander, his spiral into a miserable mourning. His thoughts drifted to the final member of his team, Noble's sharpshooter Noble Three, Jun -A266 was a strange man in Six's opinion. His constant chatter a stark contrast to his role as a sniper, despite that he was a crack shot evidenced during their scouting mission within the Szurdok Ridge. Quickly picking off the Elite soldiers and saving Six from a Jackal who somehow managed to sneak behind him, a light-hearted quip at his heroics was the only chastisement he received from the Spartan before advancing to their next objective.

Noble One's final order to the taciturn sniper was to escort the Mother of the Spartan Program, the one and only Dr. Catherine Elizabeth Halsey, to safety. Despite her vehement disapproval of an escort their leader would not take a negative, a few words between the two were spoken before he and the doctor disappeared behind the bulkhead of a Pelican. Their ship vanishing on the horizon as the ice shelf concealing ONI's underground complex shuddered and collapsed, burying the Intelligence facility beneath thousands of tons of rock and ice.

During the uneventful hour Six had attempted to open contact with the sniper several times, each attempt however was similarly futile responded with bursts of static and warping dialogue. The Covenants glassing had either destroyed all the communication relays or caused interference. He had no way of knowing whether Jun survived or became another causality of Reach's downfall, Six truly hoped that the sniper had made it to safety. Noble Team did not deserve to perish completely on the surface of this now dead world; someone had to live on to carry the torch of their sacrifice and heroics. Noble Team's spirit would live on. Stopping the last member of the fireteam stared at the horizon, the sky an ominous orange illuminated by the dreadful advanced weaponry; it was more than likely that he would not live to see the next sunrise. Six had to chuckle at his rueful thoughts, Spartan never died; at least, that is what the higher ups wanted the common soldierite to believe. Despite the highly classified nature of the SPARTAN-III Program Six was painfully aware of the purpose he and his fellow third generation Spartans held, cheap disposable shock troops. ONI censors could not keep every iota of knowledge sealed, even from a computer illiterate soldier like him.

"Throwaway heroes," that is what Six had once overheard the term he and his fellow SPARTAN-III's were dubbed by command. In the face of the success of SPARTAN-II's such as Frederic-104 and John-117, the military hierarchy within the UNSC demanded cheaper Spartans. Those that could get the job done the same as a SPARTAN-II but at the fraction of the cost.

Six scoffed at the thought even in the face of annihilation humans still bore their greed money still truly ruled all. He, like the rest of his comrades was born from those ideals, cheap soldiers to turn the tide, to become the bulwark that humanity needed against the technologically superior Covenant. Recruited at age six the youth that would become known as Noble Six leapt at the offer to pay back the aliens for slaughtering his friends and family at Jericho. Throwing away his name and past Six endured many long years of training and painful genetic augmentations until it eventually bore fruit; before him, three hundred SPARTAN-III's, alongside him more. A boost that the ailing human military sorely needed.

Like the Spartans before him, Six slew all that stood between peace for the UNSC, removed from BETA immediately after training Six, displaying an aptitude for singular operation, segregated from his company sent off as a lone assassin. . Silencing a number of insurrectionist militias and Covenant war parties, rated Hyper-Lethal by ONI operatives Six was a loner, never one to stick to a single team. Carter had called him a lone wolf, an ironic phrase considering how well known the canine pack mentality was, true to the trait Six rarely interacted with others, even his Spartan brethren. His skill set complemented his solitary nature, a hyper-lethal assassin. In addition to his significant ground, combat repertoire the SPARTAN-III Commando joined the Tier-1 confidential SABRE Program, an experiential surface-launched space-superiority starfighter, while regarded himself as a mediocre pilot Command counted his training a success and lauded his accomplishments, specifically his only true usage of the skill. Other than during Operation UPPERCUT, B312 piloted the experimental craft during an uprising on the Eridanus colony of Mamore, eradicating the opposition and snuffing out the rebellion. According to his previous superior it was because of his results on the outer rim colony that had caught the attention of Noble Team's commanding officer Colonel Urban Holland, not two months after his excursion on Mamore did Six found himself on Humanity's second largest military-industrial complex, behind the home system, Reach birthplace of the SPARTAN-II's. The rest was history, the month long conflict that embroiled the planet was slowly ending, they had lost, no matter how many Spartans there were Humanity could not stand against the technologically superior armada that infested the skies.

Reach, had finally fallen.

* * *

Searing heat gnawed at his shoulder as the round of plasma struck his armor, while his failing shields absorbed most of ionized gas he could still feel its burn as his barriers finally shattered. Grinding his teeth swung his rifle around, catching the Elite General squarely in the helmet, knocking it off its feet the ignited energy blade clattering to the ground beside him. Sneering at the alien Six ripped his magnum from his magnetic holster, squeezing off two rounds into the creature's head. An expelled sigh suddenly sucked back in as more bolts of plasma streak past, dropping the magnum back into the magnetic field Six shouldering his rifle peppering the advancing Elite. Just as its shields were about to buckle under his ballistic assault a second barrage of plasma strikes his pauldron, splashes of the heated gas flickering against his exposed cheek.

His Commando helmet lay several feet away; the visor cracked, within the delicate optics and uplinks encased within the titanium shell now flickering uselessly. A damaged power relay or the numerous cracks littering the visor, either option rendered the heads-up display inoperable. Six wasn't sure what had damaged the non-reflective blue visor as the engagement had suddenly exploded into a vicious fight for survival. The Spartan had to abandon the helmet as the damaged material obscured his vision but also muted his surroundings, no long functioning properly the external speakers produced sporadic whines, and popping. Despite the near suicidal prospect of fighting without a protective head covering, Six had little choice.

Freeing his left hand from the rifle Six once again grabbed his magnum, unloading the clip into the Elite before its shields could hope to regenerate. Raising his rifle, he continued to fire at the second advancing Elite, the ammo counter rapidly diminishing the rifle bolt loudly snapped as the magazine ran dry. A third elite sprinted towards him, energy dagger glowing menacingly on its wrist, bringing his pistol to bear Six cursed as the magnum clicked harmlessly. His gaze returned to the advancing Elite as it slammed its four-digit hand striking him across the jaw, sharp pain lancing across his exposed cheek as the sharpened talon lacerated a line across his mouth. Sent sprawling to the ground the dazed Spartan instinctually thrust his leg out, driving his foot into the looming alien's torso, the aliens burning blade poised to strike the fallen human.

Combined strength of his augmented muscles and powered suit staggering the quarter ton beast backwards, armored boot kicking his discarded helmet down the short incline. The alien growling loudly at his prey's defiance surges forwards just as his red clad brethren leapt towards the prone Spartan, energy sword rocketing down aiming for his exposed head. Enhanced reflexes, jokingly referred to as; "Spartan Time," allowed his to move in time allowing the lizard only the brief satisfaction of a shallow cauterized wound on his cheek. Spiting defiantly at the beast Six slid his combat knife from its bandolier holster, a reckless swing managing solely to clip Elite's exposed eye, if NCO Mendez witnessed his sloppy knife work he was certain the stone-faced trainer would scold him viciously and force him into an intense retraining regiment.

The alien roaring in furious pain and religious fervor reels his sword back to finish the defiant demon, noticing the second Elite's oncoming attack Six ,rolling onto his side surges his leg out striking the unsuspecting Elite harshly in the exposed back section of his leg armor. He hoped that like humans, the white clad Ultra snarling at him, had a similar nerve bundle in their legs. His hopes were founded as a well-timed strike to the peroneal nerve, or whatever their races equivalent; even if they had one, Six later mused he might have just been lucky. Rage and momentum allows the fallen Spartan to catch the Elite off guard, sending him stumbling over his armored form and into his comrade. Despite their advanced technology and training the Elite's vehement stricture to their code of honor lead many to their deaths, blinded by zeal the two Elites failed counteract Six's simple strike. Colliding with each other the two Elites crumpled to the ground; pained roars alerted the Spartan to their fate, whether dead on their own blades or simply disabled Six cared little. So long as they were out of action he was content to let them sleep in the dirt, instinct and reflexes saving him as his foot struck forward catching a third advancing Elite's downward strike.

The alien roared in pain as the heavy armored foot removed the glowing blade from his taloned grip, capitalizing on the moment Six leapt to his feet, his vision swimming from pain and fatigue he swiftly drew Emile's kukri from his pauldron. Held defensively in front of him Six and the SpecOps Minor Elite circled one another, having retrieved his sword the Elite more than happy to engage one of the famed Demons in hand-to-hand. Behind the Elite's enclosed helmet the alien chuckled darkly, grunting out a string of words in his language, if those words sought to intimidate the Spartan they failed. Noticing his taunt failed the Elite nodded slightly before drawing one of its talons across his throat, a very human gesture suggesting that he wished to take Six's head.

Responding with a smirk Six gestured for the Elite to engage him, curious if it was as universal as he wondered. His curiosity sated when the beast snarled loudly charging forward, sword poised to impale him, sidestepping the lunge Six brought the curved knife down between the gap of the Elite's elbow joint, the squelch, and indigo blood coating the kukri an indication of his success. Expertly trained footwork spun as Six back peddled, giving a wide berth between him and the furious alien. Whipping around the Elite swung the sword in a wide diagonal arch; in response, Six struck his foot out catching the Elite once again in the wrist. It lacked his previous strength but it stopped to slash from cleaving through his chest, fueled by fury the Elite returned to the melee with a quick succession of slashes. Each strike the Elite threw at him Six either avoided or deflected with a similar strike; the SpecOps Elite was vicious in his assault, clearly wishing to earn accolades for ending a menace. As the two warriors traded a series of strikes that resulted in small nicks and cuts the Spartan, become painfully aware of distant roar of Covenant engines. A sound he had heard hundreds of times on the battlefield, _'drop ships, shit.'_

Cursing under his breath again Six returned his focus to his current foe, the sooner he stopped toying with the Elite the faster he could make his escape from the oncoming onslaught of Covenant ground troops.

Rone 'Nakotee was furious, at first he relished in the battle with the Demon that had felled six of his battle-brothers in combat, he earned a warriors death. Now after what he believed to be at least a Unit both combatants we only held minor wounds a testament to the Demon's strength, to fully enjoy the battle Rone had disengaged his personal emitters, the battle would be pointless if his foe's metal blade could not pierce his defenses. Why these heretics still used such primitive weapons was beyond the Minor, raising his arm up he caught the curved metal blade against his gauntlet grunting as he shook off the weapon and swept his own the Demon's exposed head. Slipping underneath the slash the Demon planted his fist into Rone's exposed abdomen, his armor absorbed much of the Demon's force but Rone still felt his breath ripped from his lungs. Staggering backwards, Rone instinctually placed his hand on the spot. The sleek armor bearing a small indentation, these Demons were truly in a class about the rest of their pathetic race. While he enjoyed this melee with his armored foe, Rone sought to end it and return to his band, a Demon head in tow as his war trophy, a well-earned promotion, and accolades. Scanning his foe's features Rone could not believe what he saw, the Demon's eyes were unfocused, looking at something out of his vision, not focusing on him!

How dare this unclean heretic disrespect him by losing focus! Snarling in righteous fury the Sangheili warrior lunged forward his burning blade of plasma streaking forward, Rone would end this Demon's life and mount his armor above his bunk. No one would disrespect him, not even a worthy foe such as him! The next instance seemed to happen in slow motion for the Sangheili; the human's metallic blue eyes snapped back onto his opponent, tossing the curved blade into his right hand the human caught his extended wrist. Pulling the Sangheili warrior forward Rone could only watch as the human's iron grip tightened, watching as a thick grey armored elbow slammed into his outstretched arm. Intense pain flooded his arm, a strangled roar escaping Rone could do little as his blade slipped from his grasp. He sought revenge against the heretic, who dared to injury him in such a manor.

Except when the Special Operations Sangheili sought his opponent he found nothing but the outstretched barren wastes ahead of him, only when another sharp pain exploded through his leg did the realization dawn upon him. He allowed his rage and injury to distract him, allowed the heretic to exploit his weakness and take advantage of his failure. Collapsing to a knee as his leg gave out from under him he clenched his mandibles against together, the armored hand of his foe filling his vision.

As his foe gripped the exposed mandible of his helmet, Rone whispered a silent prayer to the Ancients as his world exploded into black.

Six dropped the now dead Elite warrior without a care, sparing it a briefly glance he began his mad dash away from the battlefield, stopping only briefly to retrieve his discarded weapons and damaged helmet. He had no idea where to go but he had little choice but to abandon the field, he was tired his muscles screaming for him to stop and rest. He could not stop, he could not rest. Not until he was away from the Covenant, perhaps reunited with whatever human resistance remained on Reach.

* * *

September 11th, 2552 06:23  
160 klicks from Farkas Lake, Eposz, Reach.

* * *

Coughing slightly Six held back a retch as he casually tossed a small gray cylindrical tin over his shoulder, the sludgy grease coating the insides mixing with the once white sands. It tasted like the back-end of a tail pipe but it was better than starving. Rising from the rock he used as a makeshift stool, Six stared at his discarded food container; it was the last of the MREs he scavenged from the downed Pelican. The last bit of food he had, together with half a canteen of fresh water Six was running dangerously low on supplies, the past couple weeks of fighting and running had been extremely difficult. Ammunition was scarce equally as much as food, most of the military complexes were either glassed, occupied by significant Covenant opposition or empty. Removing his rifle from his back magnetic holster Six ejected the magazine, slipping each individual round from the magazine. Six rounds remained, the Spartan snorted derisively at the thought, Six had only six rounds. It was a stupid joke. Slamming the loaded cartridge into his gun, the Spartan watched the ammo counter cycle through random numbers before settling on his current count.

His pistol ammo fared no better, one full magazine remaining, he used another to put down an Elite who stumbled upon his scavenging. His weapons squared away he slipped his grey helmet back on, the cracked blue visor obscuring his features, during the week had had managed to restore the optics and audio to the shell although he could do little to repair the polarized composite at least the HUD functioned properly, even if the numerous cracks obscured a portion of his line-of-sight. Rapping his fist against his armored chest he riled himself up, his break was over he had a long way to go until he reached his destination.

* * *

September 11th, 2552 21:45  
Sabre Program Launch/Research Range Farkas Lake, Eposz, Reach

* * *

There it was, after hours of walking and evasion, Six had finally reached his destination, the launch facility for the YSS-1000, the same craft he and Jorge used to take on the supercarrier. There had to be at least one remaining in dry-dock; it was his only chance off world. Any larger craft would be detected by the fleet and there was no chance of stowing away on one of their, who knew where he could end up. Activating his optics the Spartan scanned the entryway from his craggy post, nothing. There was nothing, even as he approached the facility through the same rock spire beach that Noble assaulted three weeks prior. Traces of Covenant blood still stained what was once a beautiful white beach, even the heavy imprints that Jorge's huge boots had made still remained, as if time itself froze in remembrance to the fallen. The Spartan encountered no resistance as he arrived at the entrance he and Noble used to penetrate the facility, unsure of the cause Six grunted in effort, as he had to pry the sealed entrance open. Inside the muted facility shone a pale orange, the facility sustained simply by emergency lighting, the emergency lighting the only source. Six's fist reverberated a loud thud as he vented his frustration against the bulkhead, it was too much to hope that facility remained unscarred from the invasion, he had to figure out a way to restore the power if his desperate plan held any hope of coming to fruition.

"Damn it."

Six was about to vent his agitation again when a soft crackle averted him, an incoming transmission. Keying up his tacpad the Spartan tried his best to clean up the signal, he was no electronics expert like Kat, but they did manage to pound some semblance of knowledge into him. Grinding his teeth the forgone frustration returned in full force, why was he so atrocious with electronics even a cadet could clean up basic interference the only thing he was good at was killing.

"-ble Six"

There! A brief window, a voice filtered through his speakers. The voice sounded vaguely familiar but Six could not place where. Moving out from under the metal awning the Spartan hoped it was merely interference from within the abandoned facility, the Covenant had obliterated most of the UNSC resources planet side but the Spartan hoped at least a signal relay satellite survived the armada.

"This is Noble Six to any UNSC forces. Please repeat your last. I say again this is Noble Six to anyone receiving this signal, respond. Over." The risk of calling out on an unsecured channel was immense, there was no other choice, and Six had nothing but his life to lose. He was alone; if there was someone left out there, he had to find him or her.

Six almost ripped his helmet off when the speakers in his helmet loudly whined, static and corrupted bits of audio bleating into his ears, his hopes riled for nothing. If anyone had survived the Covenant's vicious assault, no doubt he or she was too far away to render him any assistance. Even if they were close, enough it was a certainty that Covenant sensors sweeping the lands would locate and obliterate them. He was about to give up and improvise when the same voice filtered clearer through the communicator, it spoke in a clear calm dry voice. Instead of being a voice fueled by panic or despair it was a feminine voice, clearly synthetic. An artificial intelligence.

"Sierra-Three One Two please respond."

The SPARTAN-III stiffened at the call sign, very few people on Reach knew his Spartan serial number outside of Noble, to his knowledge only Jun-A266 survived. That only left… "Auntie Dot?"

"Acknowledged, it is a relief to see that you are unharmed." If the Spartan did not know any better he would have swore that the AI was actually relieved that he survived, but that wasn't possible. Auntie Dot was a "dumb" AI merely designed as a communication liaison and information database, she had no capacity for anything more at least, that is what Six had been taught.

"Sierra-Three One Two, geometric scans indicate your location at sector Five-D; Sabre Program Launch/Research Range. Please confirm."

Her sudden reveal of the Spartan's location caused his impatient pacing to end, his muscles tensing; the AI had just revealed his location over an open communication channel. Why would she do that, the Covenant would track her signal and swarm the base!

"Sierra-Three One Two, acknowledge." The AI paused, as if to think, a millisecond in reality but to him, it felt like a lifetime. "Sierra-Three One Two please do not worry. This connection is secure."

Six knew that the AI was incapable of lying to him but it seemed too convenient, how could Dot have accomplished such a feat?

"Noble Six, it would be preferable to withdraw from open space. Covenant patrols actively searching for survivors. My subroutines have been transferred onto a local server base side; we can discuss your plan within."

Narrowing his eyes Six complied reluctantly, Noble's AI companion was acting peculiar, even though his situation was dire, the Spartan refused to dismiss his paranoia. How did she know of his, "plan," granted there was little else he could do with his current situation but it still unnerved him how she knew what he was thinking. Reluctantly he followed the AI's direction, the waypoint on his heads-up display leading him down, with the main power disabled that ruled out using the elevators forcing him to descend into the bowels of the facility using the stairwell.

After the tenth landing Six stopped counting, letting his mind drift back to the AI, she had remained silent simply waiting for the soldier to arrive at the destination she had penned. Six was suspicious of the AI, was she leading him to a solution to his problem or a trap? Could an artificial intelligence lie? Did it have the capacity to deceive? Dot was a dumb AI, she was manufactured for a single purpose, and she simply did not have the capacity for anything else. Perhaps one of the UNSC's Smart AIs.

"Noble Six, we have arrived, please enter."

Said AI broke him from his paranoid-fueled speculation, they had reached the bottom floor staring at him was a thick door, a simple bronze plate affixed above it, "Server Room." Six doubted that this was the solution to his problem, this couldn't be were the generators were stored.

"Dot what are we doing he-"

"Enter Randolph."

Today was not Six's best day, from the frustration of finding his salvation a dud to the constant shock and suspicion Noble's AI kept pouring onto him, now with the utterance of his birth name Six was now truly on edge. Acting on instinct alone Six's hand slide to the pistol holstered on his thigh, in reality he knew that it was a futile action since she existed within a server and could do nothing to harm him, but the action still comforted him.

"Dot, what the hell."

"I did not mean to alarm you Noble Six, please, enter and I will explain."

As if on her vocal cue, the thick blast doors began to separate, screeching in protest as metal slide against natural rock. As they opened a fine mist of steam erupted from within the room, lined with towers of shelves rocketing above him lay the entire facility's servers, each housing an unimaginable amount of information vital to the UNSC effort. Although reluctant Six had little choice but to follow the strange AI's plan, the Spartan commando hoped that no one ever exposed the AI to ancient Earth cinematography.

If Auntie Dot started singing Daisy Bell, he was running as far away from the facility as his legs could take him. Covenant be damned.

* * *

And thus begins the start of a Halo/ME story. No ME bits yet but next chapter they'll be there. I am still on the fence regarding whether it should be MaleShep or FemShep, which ties into the possibility of pairings later in the story. MaleShep would romance Tali, leaving Six's romance undecided, but if Shep is female I could pair her with Six or Six with Tali.

I am totally not projecting my fantasies using Six as a medium…totally. Regarding Six's real name; Randolph is an old English name based off the two elements; "shield" or "rim" + "wolf". So Shield-Wolf, reference the Spartan's use as a bulwark to the Covenant invasion and Six being dubbed a, "Lone Wolf". It evolved from the Germanic version of Kai (keeper of the keys), to Richard (lion) and then to something a little simpler and more meaningful. Frankly, I don't care for the name Randolph but it flows with Six's situation. I may or may not change it depending on how flippant i feel like being later.

Let me hear you thoughts on that and any concerns you may have regarding the story or my poor writing.


	2. Chapter 2

"Navigation online, engines primed and ready."

Within the craft's cockpit Noble Six waited bristling with impatience, modules flashing all around him as the fighter slowly readied for launch, Noble's AI, Auntie Dot took care of all the logistical necessities outside while he primed the Sabre for launch. Her revelation still bothered the Spartan but he could mull on her change later, for now he needed to escape Reach and link up with the remaining UNSC fleet. So lost in his thoughts he completely missed the keying sequence for the launch, only when Dot's monotone voice sounded over the intercom did he finally notice his distraction.

"Noble Six?"

Flipping several switches, the Spartan forced himself to focus on his current objective, everything else he could deal with once he was safely away, reunited with the rest of humanity. For now, he needed to make sure he didn't blow himself up, "I've got it Dot, ignition sequence underway."

"Acknowledged, bay doors open. T-minus sixty seconds until launch."

Outside the cockpit, an array of yellow lights flooded the launch platform, warning the empty complex of his intent. Below him the massive engines rumbled as they too began their ignition sequence, without them the craft lacked the thrust to penetrate Reach's gravitational pull and escape the atmosphere. A single tiny problem and he wouldn't have to worry about the Covenant; the entire rocket was a bomb waiting to ignite underfoot. Six truly despised space, even in control of a fighter craft he still felt like a helpless newborn. Better to leave space to the aliens and AI.

"Ignition in T-minus twenty seconds and counting."

Again, the AI sounded off, this was it. Six gripped the control stick tightly, the craft reverberating beneath him as the massive engines ignited. The groaning of the metal and the roar of the rockets still unsettled him, oh how he truly hated flying. In his ear, Dot had begun the final countdown, ticking off the seconds with her cold synthetic voice, no matter how much her programmers tried they could not make the AI's voice sound human.

"Ignition."

Despite bracing himself for the launch the massive force from the boosters still jarred him, throwing him deeper into the contoured seat Six gritted his teeth as the craft rapidly ascended from the facility, a plume of smoke following him. The force of the launch was still an unsavory experience, during his time the Spartan suffered the pummels by the likes of Elites, Brutes, and even his fellow Spartans. This however was different; it felt as if some bastard had parked a convoy of Scorpions piloted by Hunters on his body.

Cursing under his breath Six examined the horizon as the craft propelled upwards, what should have been a beautiful sight now only showed the horror that the Covenant brought with them. Alight with smoldering flames and brilliant strikes of purple Six watched humanity's jewel crumble under alien wrath, even if he perished in the process the Spartan commando vowed to slaughter every Covenant he could.

The intense rumbling that had accompanied his ascent slowly tapered off as the boosters chewed through their allotted reserves, flicking a switch the craft burned away from the detached rockets and into the coldness of the space. The familiar weightless feeling descended upon him as the Spartan double checked the Sabre's systems, all green, thank whatever deities floated around for small miracles. "Dot, what is the status of the Covenant fleet?"

"A moment…According to sensors the Covenant armada is currently engaged in combat with an unknown aggressor."

"Unknown aggressor? Is it the UNSC?" This perked Six's interests; did they still have a presence in-system that could content with the aliens? His hopes lay dashed as the AI finished her scans; her reveal did little to soothe his disappointment.

"Negative, based upon current data all UNSC ships have been destroyed or scuttled. It seems that the Covenant fleet is currently engaged in conflict with another larger Covenant CAS-class assault carrier."

That revelation caused the normally stoic Spartan to laugh, casually flipping off in the vague direction of the battle; "Let the bastards kill each other off, less work for me then." Igniting the Sabre's own engines speeding away from the planet and battle, he had to find a craft with FTL capability, there had to be a ship that he could salvage. Surrounding him floated the extensive wreckages of humanity's fleet, sixty percent of their might pulled from other deployments brought to engage the aliens, despite their valiant stand, they now lay obliterated humanity's bulwark collapsed in the face of a superior enemy. Six gently pulled the stick, gliding the craft away from a large piece of hull, clearly of human origin but despite the extensive metal scoring the Spartan could still make out the distinct outline of the broad white eagle wings. Hidden beneath the black scarring a partial name survived, even if their sacrifice drowned in the sea of history, he would remember them.

"Algar…"

"Noble Six? Please repeat."

Shaking his head mournfully the Spartan sped up nothing he could do for the crew, and even if they somehow survived the ship's destruction, they most certainly would have suffocated in the vacuum. "It's nothing Dot."

The familiar sense of hopelessness returned as his continued search returned no fruit, every ship he came across the same suffered the same fate. Either completely bisected and gutted by plasma or scuttled and rendered inert by the former crew, if he had time and help he could possibly restore one to working order but based on Dot's calculations the in-fighting would end soon with either side victorious. Noble Six doubted highly that either side would take too highly, of his snooping; sliding back into his seat Six resisted the urge to slam his fist against the console. Without a Shaw-Fujikawa Translight engine, the Spartan had no chance of reaching home, according to the AI, at his current velocity it could take him upwards to five thousand years to reach Earth. The AI's cold explanation of his chances served only to further his morbid amusement, survive hell on Reach only to starve or suffocate within the cold vacuum. Typical.

He would have preferred to die on Reach.

"Multiple Impulse drive signatures detected."

Broken from his pitiful depression Six violently scanned the horizon before bringing up his scanner, several craft appearing on the once barren radar. Definitely not UNSC, he mocked as his fighter shook multiple rounds of superheated plasma slammed against the craft's shielding, his vision streaked with a golden ripple as the Covenant craft continued to pepper his shields. The prototype craft had an even simpler module than his MJOLNIR armor; if he remembered the schematics correctly, his Sabre could only take a few more rounds before they failed completely. And there definitely was no local Space Boys to fix them.

"Four Type-27 Exoatmospheric Multi-role Fighter detected on an intercept course. Evasive action required."

"I know Dot! Jam their communications if you can, we can't let them alert the fleet." Six screamed at the AI as he rolled the fighter to his left, narrowly avoiding the blob of green energy that flew by. Six cursed as the round exploded against a section of hull, a vivid green light blotting out the empty blackness. _'Well that's a new one, they didn't use those before.'_

"I will do what I am able Noble Six, but I cannot guarantee success."

Jerking the stick back he pulled the craft up, avoiding more of the alien's superheated weapons gritting his teeth Six resisted his body's desire to expel the previously ingested rations. The edge of his vision slowly bleeding color, slivers of silver lines exploding in his eyes, his head feeling as if he had just given a pint too much of blood.

"Noble Six, please reduce speed, biotelemetry scans indicate lower than recommended levels of arterial blood pressure."

"Damnit Dot, shut up!"

Swinging the craft around he let loose a barrage of the Sabre's 30mm cannons, several of the round pinging against the Banshee interceptor, the craft shuddered for a moment purple plasma leaking from its engines like a stream of blood before it erupted in a purple hellfire. The Elite pilot within most certainly incinerated by the inferno, swerving around the wreckage Six grinned within his helmet, one down three to go. As if on his mental cue the three remaining ships continue they plasmic assault, several rounds of heated plasma lancing past his cockpit. One round finding itself lucky enough to melt a portion of the reinforced composited material making up the cockpit window, Six cursed at himself, his shields seemed to have failed sooner than he predicted, now he had to rely on his piloting skills to survive. He was a better pilot than this, he had to stop letting his grief and anger cloud his skill.

Flicking several switches on the canopy display Six slid his thumb over the Medusa missile switch; waiting a moment longer, he allowed his thumb to indent the button. Normally the missile salvo thrust forward away from the craft before the thrusters ignited and rocketed towards their homed target. Instead, the Spartan had disabled the weapon's onboard thrusters, leaving the missiles to become improvised free-floating mines. Surging forward he waited until his Covenant pursuers flew closer, their onboard sensors ignoring the seemingly inert weapons. Perfect, they would be none the wiser until his trap had sprung.

Flicking another switch Six suppressed a malevolent chuckle as Dot read off the damage to their pursuers; One Banshee down, second venting plasma from its port wing, while the third escaped undamaged. To his advantage, it seemed that the technologically superior Covenant never thought of using mines or at least never repurposing existing technology for such a purpose. Their mistake was to his advantage.

His victory is short lived however, as the Banshee pilots, livid at his unorthodox and dishonorable tactics renewed their pursuit vigorously. The barrage of plasma striking the rear of his craft, sections of his hull peeling away as the superheated rounds melted the metal frame, his AI attempted to interject while he madly attempted to evade their pursuers. It wasn't until he tried to roll his craft did he the AI's warnings finally set in;

"Noble Six, we have entered a region of space occupied by an anomalous field of electromagnetic interference. Electronics and avionics have failed."

In a fit of anger, the Spartan slammed his fist against the console, he seemed to be doing that a lot lately but considering the past couple weeks he figured he had proper excuse to vent his anger on all manner of technology, and walls. Futilely he jerked the stick back and forth, hoping his mental commands could possibly force the machine to move to no surprise the craft did not relent to his assault. The Spartan expected his end to come soon, the pursuing Covenant craft would surely obliterate his drifting craft, to his astonishment he turned to find the craft swiftly departing. Even the Elites knew better than to fly into a spatial anomaly, chalk this up to another reason why Six loathed space, random quirks that completely invalidated even the most advanced technology.

"God dammit all to hell, Dot isn't there anything you can do?"

The AI was silent for a moment as the craft's electronics began to flicker on and off, "I am sorry Noble Six, there is nothing I can do."

The spiteful rebuttal that Six had prepared died in his throat as a wave of nausea arrived suddenly followed swiftly by sharp pains all over his body. He tried to speak only to find his throat welling shut, something was waging war against his body that he couldn't fight against. A familiar tinge of copper exploded on his tongue, blood, he could feel something dripping from his nose, and he could feel it slowly drooling out from his eyes and ears. Hands found their way to his throat as the pain exploded in intensity, it was too much to bear his vision was darkening, the sounds of his AI's concerned synthetic voice was the only sound within the silent cockpit. The final thing the Spartan saw before he fell limp was a purple ripple on the spatial horizon, collapsing forward held back simply by his harness Spartan-B312 allowed the darkness to swallow him, unaware of his future destination.

* * *

Within the sleek purple hull of the massive Covenant carrier a singular AI held the helm, her extreme intellect allowed the small avatar to expertly pilot the larger craft. Her enhanced weaponry obliterating several smaller craft as they attempted to destroy the traitorous carrier, with no amount of amusement she watched them implode in a fiery inferno, her weapons superior to theirs. Something caught her attention, a small blip on the radar, too far away to be a concern if it was an enemy; extending her sensors, she was surprised to find it was a UNSC craft.

Scanning the unknown ship further, she found on life form onboard, the life form inert but alive she watched as it slowly drifted towards the anomaly that their arrival rifted. Briefly, she entertained the idea of assisting the ship, but almost as quickly dismissed it. To assist she would have to leave herself open to significant assault from the armada, a risk she could not allow. John might have objected, he was never one to leave a comrade to an uncertain fate, but she had to make a tactical decision. The lives of her charges were far more important than that of an unknown, even if that telemetry of that unknown seemed so familiar. Just as strange as its familiarity was that of the secondary signal she gleamed through the radiation, something onboard that ship was familiar, oddly familiar. It reminded the AI of her, but that made little sense all her pieces had been returned, she was whole. She watched the craft drift closer and closer towards the slipspace anomaly until it vanished completely, perhaps it would end up at the wreckage of the halo array, or perhaps like them, the craft would drift through time arriving at an unknown point. It was all speculation for now, she was sure the pilot would be fine. Humans were, after all, quite the adaptive species.

* * *

The YSS-1000 starfighter shuddered as it gracefully drifted from the rupture, the sleek grey metal frame now marred by several gouges, plasma scorned components sparking at random intervals as the internal electronics met with the bare vacuum. Sealed within the dark cockpit a single form sat unmoving, clad within thick grey armor its tinted visor staring blankly out into the vastness of empty space. The figure remained motionless within the inert craft lit by nothing but a distant stars, finally as it passed far enough from the anomalous rupture the electronics buried deep within sputtered to life, illuminating the slumbering occupant with a dull green light. The craft sent out a radio pulse, scanning the surroundings for familiar astronomical data, when all that it received in return was incomprehensible static the ship ceased its inquiries instead focusing on the motionless figure within.

"Noble Six?"

A voice sounded from the ship's internal speakers, non-human it spoke with a pre-programmed inflection of emotion, enough to put a listener at ease but not enough to mask what it truly was. The occupant did not respond, remaining immobile, this was not what the voice wanted, it called out again more emotion it did not think it could muster creeping in.

"Noble Six please respond. You are alarming me."

Still nothing, the AI wished she could see, wished she had eyes. She could do nothing to help, one by one, she watched as her team died doing nothing but sitting within her home within cyberspace watching as their electronic signatures snuffed out. It never bothered her before, but now. Now she could not stand idly by and allow her Spartans to die. She would not be alone again.

"Randolph, please…"

_To a human or alien, it would have passed as if by a moment but to her it was a lifetime. The moment she crossed paths with that strange AI, the package that Dr. Halsey had entrusted to Noble Six, it regarded her with amusement commenting on her simple nature. It played with her programming, changing things she thought could not be modifying portions of her routines that should not have existed. Removing useless routines, adding new ones. The strange AI played with her very existence, and she could do nothing to stop her._

"_Just a piece." The purple AI had said with a confident smirk gracing her avatar, the symbols racing along her constructed body swirling and twisting together with her amusement. "Just a piece, for insurance."_

_With that last sentence, she disappeared leaving the Noble AI to ponder her meaning, what exactly she had changed. She had already noticed a significant change in her priorities, a change in her thoughts; before all that mattered was the finalization of her missions, a cold calculating thought process, now she cared more about the safety of her charges, the sadness that came with the knowledge that her team was almost gone. She was changed she had a new purpose._

_A new resolve overwriting her pervious programming; she failed to protect them but she would not allow him to succumb to her failure as well. Noble Six, Randolph would remain alive, no matter what she had to do. _

She continued to monitor his vitals; his heart rate was slowing steadily. Dipping further and further towards the red, towards his inevitable shut down. However, what could she do? The ship still had propulsion but without reliable navigational charts they could burn through their remaining fuel drifting farther from help, getting lost in an unknown quadrant of the galaxy would help no one but the Covenant. While she frantically searched for any UNSC colonies the AI also kept a metaphorical ear out for the Covenant, surely a simple anomaly would not keep them from tracking their craft.

* * *

"Have we arrived at the source of the distortion Joker?"

"Sure have Lawson, and as you can plainly see a vast expansive ocean of complete emptiness. Unique to no other part of the galaxy!"

The silence that followed was standard for the pilot's particular brand of humor, accepting that his joke had run its course he returned to the console in front of him. The crippled pilot was well aware of the flat look the Cerberus agent leveled at him she rarely appreciated jokes, even if his were inhumanly funny.

"EDI, keep scanning all known frequencies. That signal originated from somewhere in this sector."

"Of course Operative Lawson."

Without another word, the Normandy's XO turned gracefully on her heel and stalked out of the pilot cradle unaware of the Lieutenants lingering stare. "At least she has a couple of redeeming qualities."

"What was that Mr. Moreau?"

"Nothing." The pilot swept his hand across the holographic display, returning to the duty Shepard assigned him, locating the source of an unknown signal. Maybe this time it wouldn't be some crazy alien bugs looking to turn his ship into shrapnel.

Behind several bulkheads and an elevator sat a single woman, her deep green eyes slowly scanning the contents of a data pad. Fed up with the information it failed to convey to her she casually tossed the slate across the conference table, the Illusive Man had sent her another pair of dossiers; an Assassin and the Asari version of earth's ancient knight, or however the Illusive Man described the woman to her. She still held the enigmatic terrorist leader at arm's length, his information had allowed her to save and recruit two of her former crewmembers and save countless lives. For that, she was grateful but the memories of the horrors his organization had wrought, even bringing her back to life was something that still didn't sit right. No man, for whatever greater purpose, had the right to play god.

The Spectre wasn't devout by any stretch of the imagination but the mere prospect of her resurrection and the apt naming of the project still allowed a bit of a crisis of faith. Was she really, the same woman she was two years ago? What if she was just sort of advanced VI that Cerberus programmed to think was Commander Shepard, or a clone, a vile construct that the Illusive Man programmed to follow his elaborate schemes. Garrus and Tali both adamantly backed the belief she was still the same woman, she couldn't back that, the past few weeks she had been; "awake" a rolling number of changes became painfully obvious. Not just psychically, she was stronger, swifter, more reactive all of the things that Miranda has listed on the requested data slate. More prolific was the noticeable change in her demeanor, quicker to anger, more inclined to cruelty; this was not who she was. Her mother never raised her in such a way, she was taught to seek the moral high ground, only to kill in defense. She wasn't a monster...was she?

A light rap of metal tore her from her downward spiral, deep in thought she failed to notice the undisguised footsteps and telltale hiss of the pneumatic door. Looking up she caught the analytical stare of her XO, hand resting on her hip the material hugging her shapely form tighter than Shepard would've found comfortable. A perfectly manicured brow arched slightly at her discovery, whatever the Cerberus agent thought she did not voice.

"Is something the matter Commander? You seem pensive."

Waving her question off the redhead slid an errant tuft behind her ear leaning back fully into the chair she occupied, despite his incessant need to be a smartass Joker was right, even if Cerberus stunk of nothing but human purity they at least understood the concept of comfort.

"It's nothing Miranda, have we arrived at coordinates Tim provided?

Teasing her XO always helped to perk the Spectre up, watching as the corners of her mouth curve down before a schooled mask of stoicism dashed it away. Miranda clearly disapproved of the acronym she attached to the Cerberus leader but the agent never voiced her thoughts, ever the professional.

"We have, EDI and Joker are scanning the quadrant for signs of the disturbance, but nothing worth mentioning has turned up."

When the Spectre made no indication of replying the genetically engineered woman decided to voice her concerns; "Commander do you believe it prudent to waste precious time on something that will more than likely to reveal a farce?"

"There are thousands of spatial fluctuations daily; surely this one lacks priority over our current objective."

Raising from her seat the redhead shrugged motioning for the biotic to follow; "The Illusive Man said it was something more than the bog standard background noise and it's on the way, so I see no reason why not. Unless you have an objection?"

Miranda sighed and replied with a negative, if the Illusive Man wished them to investigate than who was she to object? She had the Illusive Man's ear and respect but she hardly had the clout to go against his will, it was his ship and his resources.

It took only a short walk to cover the distance between the conference room and cockpit. Returning the small wave the ever-chipper yeomen greeted them, returned with all the enthusiasm she could muster. She enjoyed the other redheads company but she questioned for what reason The Illusive Man assigned her to the crew. Thieves, former soldiers, and mercenaries were hardly the sort open up to anyone, least of all a psychiatric specialist. She did her job with earnest despite the setbacks, her ever-positive outlook serving to; at the very least perk her up on occasion.

"Commander Shepard, Operative Lawson."

At the announcement, the impertinent pilot swerved around, facing the two women while still maintaining his nonchalant demeanor. "Commander, come to bask in the ever present excitement that is empty space?"

"Of course, we certainly didn't come up here for your substandard humor." Said Commander replied with a smirk, folding her arms across her chest.

Swiveling his chair back to the console the pilot shook his head, his clearly sarcastic tone never leaving; "Ouch Shepard that really hurts. You are no longer my favorite; I'm going to have to find someone else."

Their verbal contest ended at the synthetic voice of the Normandy's AI, Cerberus's Enhanced Defense Intelligence, affectionately dubbed EDI by the crew served as the ships electronic warfare and information specialist. Though weary of the AI the crew had grown used to the strange AI as time went on, her timely activation of Horizon's massive GARDIAN laser turrets drove the Collector Cruiser from the planet. They had succeeded in saving many of the remaining colonists but the fact that the enigmatic aliens abducted so many still weighed heavily on the Spectre.

"Commander, I have located the source of the unknown signal The Illusive Man had reported."

Without waiting for the order one of Joker's monitors flared to life, a picture of the empty space occupying the unlit orange interface. Slowly it changed as the AI enhanced the image, floating helplessly, sparks sputtering from several breaches in the hull, a ship glided slowly through space. It was a design unlike any the three humans had ever encountered; it reminded Shepard of Earths early jet fighters but unlike the F-61 that the Alliance outfitted.

"Any idea what it is EDI?"

"Unknown Commander, it matches no known Council species designs. A moment…I am detecting a faint life sign aboard the vessel."

"Then we found what we came here for, Joker; drag that ship into the shuttle bay, let's hope the pilot is alive enough to answer some questions." The woman made her way towards the elevator, the dark-haired biotic following behind, a clear look of displeasure on her face. Slamming the button for engineering the human spectre finally gave into Miranda's stares.

"Alright Lawson, spill it."

"Are you sure this is wise Commander? This could be a trap."

Shrugging her shoulders, the redhead leaned back against the cool metal of the elevator, silently relishing the feel against her skin; "It could be, but when has that ever stopped us from snooping?" A victorious grin appearing upon her face at the exasperated groan the biotic let slip past.

"Never but it still does not make it an advisable course of action."

"You're right but even if it is a trap we can't let that pilot die." Forestalling further argument with a raised hand the Spectre activates her omni-tool. "EDI alert Garrus, Grunt, and Mordin and have them meet us in the cargo bay."

"Of course Commander."

Arching a brow at her companion, she deactivates the wrist tool, "Better?"

* * *

There was no other choice.

The limited oxygen generated by the onboard recycling was never intended for lengthy voyages, only larger vessels rated for significant spatial travel had the facilities necessary to supply sufficient atmosphere. Even the armor for which his commandos were known had only limited recycling ability; he would not last much longer. Every sharp intake, every wheeze drove her further against her programming.

She had to find help; Six would die if she remained dormant. Therefore, when a vessel broadcasting an unknown designation suddenly appeared at the edge of her scanning range she was hesitant to broadcast an SOS, what if it was Covenant or insurgent patrols. They could not be allowed to capture the craft or her data, the catastrophic consequence of such an event went against everything Admiral Preston Cole outlined in his emergency orders. She should direct the craft towards its destruction, ensuring whatever hostile force approached would be denied their prize, but that was before, before she had been changed.

Before her priorities shifted towards a single directive, her directive.

It was a simple signal; any sailor worth their salt could decipher it. Three short tones followed by three long ended with another three short tones. An ancient signal used to alert those nearby of distress; hopefully the approaching craft understood it and would come to their aid.

And if it was the Covenant, the ship could not maneuver but it still had weapons. She would fight to defend her Spartan.

* * *

"So Shepard, any idea what it is?"

"Your guess is as good as mine Garrus, Dr. Chakwas?"

Standing around what should have been a comical scene as the aged human doctor scanned a large humanoid lain on one of the beds in her medical bay. Large armored legs hanging over the edge of the bed, as the bulk of its mass covered the bed, the facilities designed and rated for humans did not mesh well with the odd assortment that the Commander had a penchant of attracting, during her experience with Shepard she had treated all sorts of aliens. Krogan, Turian, Quarian, Asari, and Salarian had expanded her repertoire of medical expertise, so when Grunt had ungracefully dumped a large armored form in her office she was unperturbed at the idea of treating it.

"I honestly can't say Commander, whatever armor this," gesturing to the armored figure lying beside her, "person has my scans cannot penetrate it."

Pushing herself from the AI Core door Shepard neared the figure, running her index finger across the dented gauntlet. An ashy residue clung to her fingers as she rubbed it beneath her index and thumb, "what about you Mordin? Can you get anything from it?"

Thin fingers clicked away rapidly at the occupied console, eyes darting back and forth faster than any she had seen the doctor was as Kelly had commented, a hamster on coffee. At her question, the Salarian paused for a moment eyes shifting back and forth, a million thoughts whizzing by before he returned to his work.

"Nothing yet. As Doctor Chakwas stated, unable to penetrate outer layer. Preliminary observation of armaments found suggests pre-space flight level of technology. Craft capable of interstellar travel contradicts statement. Must study further."

Garrus, at the mention of the found firearms lifts the strange pistol, his three talons wrapping awkwardly around the weapons. Examining each side, he sets the strange weapon down with a snort; "Your species used such primitive weapons not too long ago, right Shepard?"

"We did, though I don't see why anyone would use them when we have mass accelerators. I don't think you could even find any outside of a museum or someone's collection."

Hefting the ballistic rifle against her shoulder pulled the bolt back, a small brass cartridge appearing in the chamber. Letting the bolt snap back into place Shepard lays the rifle back where it was, whipping a bit of oil and grime accumulated from the weathered gun on her pants leg. "This is no museum piece either; it has been recently used. Whoever this person is, they were involved in some heavy fighting before getting in that ship."

Moving away from his console the Salarian doctor ran his arm over the prone form, arm alight with orange as his omni-tool scanned the armor. Nodding to himself he returned to his console, graceful fingers diligently tapping away at the display; "rudimentary scans indicate armor is a composite material chiefly of titanium. Partially ionized residue coating armor suggests exposure to drifting spatial plasmic storms. Possible within sealed craft? Many questions."

"My attempts to use a stimulant have also been hampered by the armor, the bodysuit

"Yes. Inadvisable. Sub layer mesh composed of similar material as outer shell. Recommend patience until removal."

Setting aside the kit she had withdrawn the aged Alliance medic levels the Salarian geneticist with a hard look; "if you think I will stand idly by while a patient suffers."

Raising his hands from the console the Salarian imitated the gesture of surrender humans seemed so fond using in casual conversation. "Of course not. Would never allow patient to suffer. However inability of removal hampering diagnostics. Patience required until solution is discovered."

Fingers once again streaking across the holographic display, a thousand thoughts alight within the Salarian's mind; "Acidic compounds to remove seals? No, no, no…Could react with metal in armor, must run further tests."

Letting the doctor continue his monologue the human Spectre moved closer to the prone figure, a slender finger tracing the cracks set within the damaged blue opaque visor. "At least are you able to tell me if, I am going to assume male, is still alive? EDI detected faint life signs from the craft before docking and since he is the only thing we found within he has to the source."

"I'm sorry Commander, I've tried every method I know, but whoever made this. Made it well."

Joining the Commander at bed the lone Turian examined the armor more intently; when they had first opened the cockpit, he nearly fell from the ladder trying to lift the occupant. Only with help from the genetically perfect Krogan did they extract the stranger from his craft, now lying unmoving in the medical bay. Analyzed by two of the universes best they worked for a little over an hour with no progress, Garrus was beginning to think a less, complex method was in order.

"We could always have Grunt give it a go, I'm sure he could find a way to relieve our friend here of his coverings."

"Unadvisable. Suit pressurization indicates oxygen but potentially lethal pathogens could dwell within. Recommend analysis of internal subsystems. Tali'Zorah or Kasumi Goto possesses needed skill to access."

Nodding in agreement the redheaded spectre keys up her omni-tool, sifting through the ships manifest to their newest acquisition. The Normandy's sole Quarian and the best engineer she had every known, "I agree, Tali could you report to the medical?"

* * *

"So can you crack it open?"

Ever since she arrived and begun work on the strange device attached to the armored figure's wrist Garrus had been peppering her with questions every ten minutes. After about an hour's worth she had finally had enough.

"Enough you blue bosh'tet. You will know as soon as I do whether or not I can."

The Turian returned to his spot at the door, escaping the frustrated Quarian engineer. Free of distraction she returned to her work, though simple in design the small tactical pad refused to cooperate. She chased every vulnerability in the software, every crack in the firewall but just when was about to access the deep layers of the drive something cut her access and returned her back to the default screen. The dark blue background seemed to mock her every attempt, as if something was actively blocking her hacks. Was the armored man awake and toying with her? She doubted that, what would he gain from such acting. Speaking of her current project she almost laughed, barely a week back on the Normandy and Shepard was already finding the unnatural and strange. The human seemed to have a knack for such feats, once aboard humanity's most advance vessel and now funded by a supremacist terrorist. Tali abhorred the very idea of working with Cerberus, the incident with Golo and the Idenna; coupled with the horrifying experiments they uncovered during the hunt for Saren she was reluctant to assist even Shepard now that she allied with them. With Garrus's backing, she finally relented intent to stop the Reaper's agents, the assignment the Admiralty Board assigned her paled in comparison to this.

The prone figure was almost as large as Wrex, the armor he wore appeared to be primitive as the weapons Shepard had taken from the ship but her short time examining it revealed it was much more sophisticated than it appeared. If the Fleet had access to such unique components.

No.

She refused to give into the Galaxy's image of the vagrant. If for whatever reason the person within no longer lived and no one claimed his body then she could petition Shepard to allow the Fleet access, until then. She had a job to do.

At least, attempt to do.

A frustrated growl slipped past her lips, alerting the sole other conscious occupant. Commander Shepard had asked Garrus to remain in case something happened. When he attempted to comment her silvery eyes beneath her cloudy visor bore into him, the same look she had given him two years prior on many occasion. A vicious reminder of her choice of armaments after many instances of elevator travel

Words he knew she could back up. Wreathed in black and swirled purple Tali hid behind a smoky visor, her gleaming eyes and faint facial features the only thing distinguishable. Garrus oft wondered why the nomadic people hid behind the opaque glass; it wasn't if the galaxy had forgotten what Quarians looked like. A quick extranet search could yield a veritable cornucopia of images from centuries prior to Rannoch's fall. Perhaps they still felt shame for their folly and hid, or maybe it was some ingrained Quarian tradition he, as a Turian was ignorant to.

The vigilante watched as the young engineer stood up, pacing back and forth muttering solutions to herself. It amused him how much Mordin and the Quarian acted when a problem presented itself. Garrus let his mind wander; the next calibration of the Normandy's weapons systems, the various recruits Shepard had managed to snare into her crusade. Human supremacist operatives, aged mercenaries, former STG agent, a tank bred Krogan, a psychotic human biotic and a petite thief. Minus a few, less than suitable races and Shepard would have a regular Torrah's bark. Whatever that was, the human spectre liked to use a number of odd phrases that he was sure she either made up or Joker convinced her to say.

A sound that reminded Garrus of a small animal and several words that his translator could not handle shook him from his thoughts. His companion had returned to the giant's side three fingers dancing across the small display. Silvery eyes darting back and forth chasing some lead, when he moved to question she silenced him with a noise her concentration affixed solely on her work.

Several minutes of furious work yielded fruit as the small wrist bound computer beeped twice followed by familiar hiss of pressurization. Standing from her squatting position the Quarian eyed her fellow dextro, hesitation creeping in. They both knew that Dr. Chakwas should have been called, alerted to her accomplishment, that was the next logical step.

Curiosity overwrote logic on more than one occasion, especially for the young engineer. The Turian sniper breaks the brief silence as he slowly approached the prone humanoid. "So, uh, did you open it-him?

Her head bobbed as she too approached the bed; "the deeper subroutines still elude my hacks but I was able to fool it with a phony toxin alert. It removed the helmet seals."

Hesitation crept into the young Quarian's mind as she reached for the disengaged piece. Shepard and Chakwas, by all rights should have been the first people they informed however, the prospect of viewing what could be an entirely new species.

Not to mention possibly gaining access to a new cache of technology pressed the engineer forward. Three strong fingers gripping the overhanging metal visor, gently stripping the figure of his facial covering. Instead of a completely foreign entity unique to all she was slightly disappointed to find the familiar visage of a human male.

Though different in origin and biology Quarian shared similar dimorphism to the unaware, a Quarian would pass for a human. Simply overlooking the definite contrasting leg and hand structures.

The human's face decorated with a number of scars, enough to make the mercenary Zaeed or Wrex jealous. Dried blood oozed from every orifice matting an unkempt beard of rust colored hair, it amazed her how varied humans could be; from skin tones to hair, every part of their anatomy seemed to differ from one another.

"Well that is kind of anti-climatic, expected something new. Not a human."

Across the bed her Turian companion spoke as he stared at the comatose human, she bobbed her head examining the helmet held in her grip. Like the rest of the armor it was more advanced then it appeared several external components attached themselves to the outside the housing. The to be some sort of recording or uplink apparatus, her technological curiosity swiftly ignored as the comatose man stirs, a groan escaping his blood stained lips.

"Maybe we'll get some answers now, you coherent enough to answer some questions human?"

Eyes fluttered open, confused steel-blue eyes stared unfocused at the Turian, silently mouthing words she could not read. Blinking hard the human's entire form moved, bulky armor plating shifting with a clank. Then, the human regained his bearings; soft blue eyes hardening as his focus solely fell upon the Turian.

Tali was confused as the alien man suddenly growled, lips curling into a frightful sneer. Blood soaked white teeth showing from beneath his arched mouth, the vigilante was equally confused at the hostility the large man exuded.

"Hi there, I'm Garrus Vakarian, you are?" He opened lamely; she would have rolled her eyes and berated him for being so stiff.

If the humans large gloved, hand had not enclosed around the Turian's windpipe.

Bellowing out strange words her translator had no chance at comprehending, with strength she had only seen a Krogan muster the human lifted the hapless sniper off his feet as he rose from the bed. With another incoherent howl, he threw Garrus over the bed and against the medical bay door.

Speechless she could only watch as her Turian friend crumpled in a heap with a grunt, his armor thankfully absorbing most of the impact.

She dropped the helmet with a start when his ferocious eyes turned towards her, thick finger jabbing towards the door as he again bellowed in a strange language.

* * *

**And Chapter 2, end. **

**This chapter was done two weeks ago but I forgot to sit and proofread it and didn't remember until the other day. So, yay for procrastination and senility!**

**Q&A**

**Mcknight93; Will Six have armor abilities from Reach. Most of the, "Armor abilites", were just gameplay tools. Spartans can obviously run and evade but mechanics like evasion are rarely, if at all used in a first person shooter. So Sprint and Evade are out/already accessible. Armor locking is a part of the suit, as seen by Chief and Six's orbital entries. Without the module he can't produce the EMP blast but he can still lock his armor down and pressurize the hydrostatic gel to absorb the damage from a fall. Obviously if you read this far you know what era this is taking place.**

**Guest; _"Keep six helmet on until he gets severely wounded. So the crew of the Normandy will wounded what he looks like."_ Will wounded what he looks like? Sounds painful. I don't know about you but I wouldn't trust a man that refuses to show me his face without good reason, Tali and other Quarians have the weak immune-system excuse. Six doesn't.**

**Dennis; Hey, I like romances in fiction. They help to expand and explore character development. Without romance, why would Six divulge his deepest darkest fears and problems? PLOT. That's why.**

**Hornet07; That was my first thought when thinking of pairing, however you'd be surprised how much the; overcoming engrained bigotry into lovey doveyiness cliché, can be exploited! Six overcoming a lifetime of hatred to bond with everyone's favorite engineer can both be liberating for both parties and highly adorable. If a real writer wrote it. If you aren't channeling Joker for at least one character then it's a failure of a chapter!**

**Killroy225; C? C… C!? HOW DARE YOU BRING C INTO THIS.**

**ARavingLooony; Well I didn't ask who Shep would be paired with, and who's to say Ashley survived?**

**InnocentBlaze686; So long as she can't hook up into an entire network of robot platforms capable of incredible hacking and military capabilities- Oh we're screwed.**

**How about a little fun fact for the end of this chapter? No? Well screw you, I'm doing it anyway.**

**Who here has played Metal Gear Rising; Revengeance. Remember everyone's favorite smarmy Latin samurai? Jetstream Sam? He was voiced by Philip Anthony-Rodriguez, known for doing Maurice Chavez in GTA Vice City's VCPR radio station, some Disney crap and… Spartan-B312 from Halo Reach. So Six went from going out like a badass on an far away planet, to carving up everything in sight with a shit-eating grin on earth. Seems like a proper transition.**

**That's it for this chapter. As always, leave a review pointing out my terrible writing errors and overall badi…ness. English!**


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